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Since he'd started college, San lived a quiet life. Only one friend, no roommates, no parties, just him and his thoughts alone together. It's what he liked. He didn't have to put on a front or live up to society's impossible demands, he just got to exist in the way he was destined to. Alone.
Unfortunately for him, tonight was not one of those nights. It was his birthday, he'd wanted to spend all night watching shitty amateur porn and judging the horrible acting, downing as many drinks as he could handle before passing out in bed. But Jongho had insisted that they go out, bringing his friends along to try and help San branch out more. A house party, he'd suggested. San hated it. Everybody was so happy, dancing together, most of them singing horribly off-key and dancing like toddlers aside from a small minority.
He didn't even recognise most of these people, likely a result of barely attending any classes or events. He did know Yunho, and he'd seen Seonghwa and Yeosang hanging around with Jongho. Everybody else though? Total strangers.
Why had he even agreed to this? He should've stayed home, made up some semi believable excuse to worm his way out of socializing. He knew people were looking at him, he knew they were pitying him. Sitting alone in the corner at your own birthday party, who wouldn't pity someone like that? It was human nature, the whole empathy thing. San had never grasped the concept. Ruining your own mood because someone else is in a bad situation? Why should he care? He couldn't, his brain simply wasn't wired to do that.
In a way, it was a positive. He didn't have to waste time caring or worrying about what other people were doing, he didn't have to waste his energy comforting people or caring about their sorrows. But it was also horribly isolating.
Humans have always described love as one of the most beautiful feelings; it's one of the most common inspirations for art. Whether it be paintings, music, poetry, sculptures, they were all full with stories of romance and eternal adoration. It filled San with so much anger knowing that he had to miss out on this, only able to admire from afar. Admiration wasn't even the right descriptor, it felt more like seething jealousy, filling every crevice of his being until he eventually moved on to some other aggravating thought.
"You good, man? You've been spacing out for a while," A familiar voice drowned out his train of thought. Jongho was sat next to him, a hint of concern in his expression. "It's your birthday, whatever's on your mind can wait. Lighten up a little!"
San simply nodded, forcing a smile.
Joining the crowd was easy, he followed Jongho to his main group of friends and fit himself in quite nicely. They were all open books, figuring out how to present himself wasn't difficult at all.
"So, you're majoring in sociology? How's that?" Yunho had been interrogating him for the last 10 minutes, but answering was easier than trying to find an escape.
"It's alright. Pretty interesting." San was deadpan with his response, not bothering to pretend he was interested at all. This was a one sided interaction, and he didn't care if Yunho knew that. Everybody was too drunk to remember this in the morning anyway, may aswell take the mask off for a while.
"So like, do you learn about crimes and stuff? Or is that criminology… I don't think I know what sociology even is," Yunho rambled on, his words slurring together, turning into a mess of barely understandable meaninglessness.
San had completely diverted his attention by this point, his eyes catching onto a certain someone. It couldn't be him, surely?
Only one way to find out. His feet moved before his mind, coming up to the other man's back, completely ignoring Yunho's confused yells.
"Jung Wooyoung," His voice came out much more stern than he'd intended, causing him to clear his throat.
"Huh? Do I know you?" Wooyoung asked, turning to stare at San questioningly. One eyebrow raised, tongue slightly out, just like he used to.
"It's San. Choi San, from high school. I'm not sure if you'd remember, but we shared a few classes." His voice was low, his words coming out slow and careful, as if walking on eggshells.
"No way. You're not San, not that San. He was small and nasty. You're big and… not so nasty."
San chuckled a little, nodding. "I've changed a lot. And yet you're still the same."
Wooyoung's face went through too many emotions in a short frame of time. Confusion, shock, fear, and finally anger.
"You made my life hell, why the fuck are you talking to me? What do you want?" He spat, trying his hardest to square up to San. It was a pathetic attempt.
"Did I really? I don't recall," He raised an eyebrow, mocking Wooyoung's earlier expression, a smirk forming as the other man started listing off insults like he was reading them from a book. "I'm kidding, relax. I wanted to apologize."
Wooyoung stopped in his tracks, staring at San. Just blinking.
"You wanted to apologize?" His expression was unreadable, a mixture of almost every emotion imaginable stirred together into his face.
Wooyoung stared at him like he was waiting for the punchline, like there had to be something twisted hiding behind the word apologize. His mouth opened, then shut again, his jaw working as if he could chew through the question and swallow it down.
San kept the expression on his face carefully measured. Not too smug. Not too blank. Something soft around the edges, like regret had filed him down into a safer shape. He let his shoulders drop a fraction, as if the weight of memory had landed there.
“Yeah,” San said quietly. “I wanted to apologize. I didn’t… I didn’t realize how bad it was. Not then.”
It was a lie, neat and simple, the kind that sounded like it could be true because people wanted it to be true. People loved the idea of someone changing. They loved redemption because it meant the world made sense and pain got paid back in the right currency.
Wooyoung’s laugh was sharp, disbelieving. “You didn’t realize?”
San swallowed, letting his gaze dip like shame had teeth. He was aware of the room around them in the same way he was aware of a wall. Noise, bodies, dim light, drunk voices bleeding into each other. Jongho’s group a few steps away, Yunho still calling after him, the karaoke screen flickering with words no one was reading.
“Not like I should have,” San said. “I was… messed up. I took it out on you because you were there. That’s not an excuse. It’s just the truth.”
Wooyoung’s anger wavered, just slightly, as if his brain had caught on the word truth. San had always been good at using certain words. Truth. Sorry. I didn’t know. They were tiny keys.
Wooyoung’s eyes flicked over San’s face. It wasn’t the same face from high school, not really, but San knew what he looked like from the outside. He’d grown into himself, put on muscle, sharpened his features by sheer time and effort. If he tilted his head just right and kept his voice quiet, he could resemble the boy Wooyoung used to fear, without the awkwardness that had made that boy easy to dismiss.
“I don’t get it,” Wooyoung said, voice dropping despite himself. He glanced around, uncomfortable with an audience. “Why now? Why here?”
San let out a slow breath. He shaped it into something like relief. Like finally, finally saying it.
“Because I saw you,” he said. “And it hit me. I’ve been trying to… I don’t know, fix myself, I guess. And there’s stuff I’ve done that I can’t pretend didn’t happen.”
Fix himself. Another lie, layered on top of the first. He watched it slide into Wooyoung’s eyes, watched the way Wooyoung’s expression shifted toward something uncertain. San could almost feel the mechanism clicking in Wooyoung’s head, the old fear trying to fight with the present reality.
San lowered his voice further, intimate without being obvious. “Can we talk somewhere else? I don’t want to do this in front of everyone.”
Wooyoung hesitated. It was the moment San liked best. The little empty space where a person’s instincts argued with their need for a story that ended better.
“What,” Wooyoung said finally, “you don’t want your friends to see you being nice?”
San let his mouth twitch into something faint. “They’re not my friends. Not really. I came because I got dragged.” He flicked his gaze toward Jongho, who was laughing at something across the room. “I don’t think anyone here knows what I was like in high school.”
Wooyoung’s eyes narrowed. “And you want to keep it that way.”
San made himself look like the accusation stung. He was careful not to look offended. Offended would be wrong. Offended would mean he thought he deserved better.
“I deserve that,” San said simply. “If you want to say it out loud, you can. I won’t stop you.”
Wooyoung blinked again, as if he hadn’t expected permission. His fingers curled at his sides, knuckles white. “You’re insane,” he muttered.
San nodded. “Maybe.”
For a few seconds, Wooyoung didn’t move. San watched the small details. The way Wooyoung shifted his weight. The way his throat bobbed when he swallowed. The way his eyes kept pulling back to San’s mouth, as if searching for old cruelty there.
Finally, Wooyoung jerked his chin toward the hallway that led away from the private rooms. “Fine. Five minutes. Then I’m going back.”
San inclined his head, grateful in a way that was purely practical.
They slipped out of the karaoke room into a corridor that smelled faintly of stale alcohol and cheap air freshener. The music dulled behind the door, turning into a muffled thump. The hallway lights were too bright, making everyone look more tired and real than they wanted to.
Wooyoung walked a few steps ahead. San stayed behind him, close enough to keep the conversation contained, far enough to look respectful.
At the far end of the corridor there was a little alcove with a vending machine and a narrow bench. Wooyoung stopped there, arms crossing tightly over his chest.
“Say it,” Wooyoung said. “Say your apology. I’m not doing some long dramatic thing with you.”
San leaned his shoulder lightly against the wall, posture controlled. He let his eyes soften.
“I’m sorry,” San said. “For everything. For making you dread going to class. For making you afraid in the hallways. For… for all the shit I said. For the way I made you feel like you didn’t belong anywhere.”
He watched the words land. He watched the way Wooyoung’s mouth pressed into a thin line, like he was holding his reaction in with his teeth.
“You didn’t just make me feel that,” Wooyoung snapped. “I didn’t belong. I didn’t have anyone. I went home and it was worse.”
San’s heart didn’t change its rhythm. The statement registered like a note in a file. Useful context.
But he tilted his head and let his face shift into something that resembled pain. “I didn’t know,” he said, voice rough. “I didn’t know what it was like for you at home.”
Wooyoung scoffed. “You didn’t care.”
San pushed off the wall and took one slow step closer. He stopped at a distance that wasn’t threatening, but still enough to get someone anxious. He kept his hands visible.
“I didn’t,” San admitted. “Not then. And I hate that about myself.”
He let his eyes drop again. He breathed in like the air was too heavy.
“My parents…” San started, then stopped, as if the words were too much.
Wooyoung’s expression shifted. The anger didn’t leave, but it hesitated. That tiny hesitation again.
San continued quietly. “They weren’t good people. They weren’t good parents. I don’t want to dump it all on you, that’s not fair, but… I didn’t have anyone either. I was angry all the time, and I couldn’t… I didn’t know how to stop it.”
He spoke in fragments on purpose. People trusted fractured speech. It looked like honesty struggling through shame.
Wooyoung’s brows knit together. “So you used me.”
“Yes,” San said, immediate. “I did. And you didn’t deserve it.”
Wooyoung looked away, jaw tight. His shoulders rose and fell like he was trying to breathe through something stuck in his chest.
San let silence stretch. Silence did half the work. People hated silence. They filled it with meaning.
“When did you get… big?” Wooyoung asked suddenly, voice almost suspicious.
San blinked, then gave a small, humorless laugh. “After I left. I started working out. It was… the only thing that made my head quiet.”
Another lie, but close enough to truth to feel real.
Wooyoung eyed him. “And you’re in sociology.”
San nodded. “Yeah.”
“Why? Trying to understand people?”
San’s lips parted slightly. He let something like self-hatred flicker across his face. “Trying to understand why I’m like this.”
Wooyoung’s expression softened again, as if the sentence had pulled a thread in him. It was always the same with Wooyoung. Even when he tried to be hard, tried to be this stubborn unmovable force, his empathy leaked out through the cracks.
San watched it with interest. The whole hallway felt very clean suddenly, like the world had given them this sterile space to dissect old wounds.
Wooyoung rubbed the back of his neck. “You were a monster.”
“I was,” San agreed.
Wooyoung’s eyes snapped back up. “So what, you want me to forgive you?”
San shook his head quickly. “No. No, I don’t get to ask for that. I just… I needed you to hear it. I needed you to know I’m not proud of it. And that I’m sorry.”
He made sure the last word sounded like it cost him something.
Wooyoung stared at him for a long time. San could almost see the internal debate. The old fear saying don’t trust him and the newer, more exhausted part saying maybe it’s over now. People wanted things to be over.
Wooyoung finally exhaled. “It’s weird,” he said, voice quieter. “Hearing you say that.”
San let his eyes lift. “I know.”
Wooyoung’s laugh this time was bitter. “No, you don’t. You didn’t live it.”
San accepted the hit like he deserved it. “You’re right.”
Wooyoung’s gaze dropped to San’s hands. “Are you… are you actually different?”
San’s chest rose slowly. He made himself look scared to answer, like he might fail the test.
“I’m trying,” he said. “I’m not perfect. But I don’t want to be that person anymore.”
The lie tasted almost pleasant in his mouth. Not because it was convincing, but because it was effective. He could feel Wooyoung slipping.
Wooyoung’s eyes glistened, barely, like he was furious at himself for reacting at all. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know what to do with this.”
San softened his voice even more. “You don’t have to do anything. You can hate me. You can tell me to fuck off. You can forget about this and go back in there and have fun. I won’t follow you.”
Wooyoung’s shoulders sank. That was the thing about offering someone control. If they’d spent years without it, it was intoxicating.
“Why are you saying all this?” Wooyoung asked, almost pleading now. “Like… people don’t just change overnight.”
San let his gaze drift to the vending machine, to the rows of candy bars behind glass. He smiled faintly, like the sight had sparked a memory.
“They don’t,” he said. “It took me a long time to even admit what I did. I spent years telling myself it wasn’t that bad, that it was normal, that everyone did stuff like that. Then I… I don’t know. Something just snapped. I got tired of hearing my own excuses.”
Wooyoung swallowed. “So what, you’ve been thinking about me?”
San turned back to him. “More than I wanted to.”
That part was true in a way that didn’t mean what Wooyoung thought. San had thought about Wooyoung as a concept, as an unfinished thread. A loose end. Someone with status, something to use. Something he could gain.
Wooyoung’s expression flickered. “You know,” he said, voice suddenly sharp again, “I used to wish you were dead.”
San didn’t flinch. He made his eyes widen slightly, as if wounded, then nodded like he understood. “I don’t blame you.”
Wooyoung breathed out a laugh that sounded more like a sob. “I hated you so much.”
San let his face twist, as if he was the one feeling the ache. He stepped forward half a pace, then stopped himself, like he didn’t have the right.
“I deserve that,” San said. “I deserve every bit of it.”
Wooyoung’s arms tightened around himself. He looked smaller suddenly, like the hallway had dragged him back into the shape of the boy he used to be.
San watched him carefully. He needed Wooyoung to believe him. Not just for tonight, but for the story San wanted to write with this.
“I’m not going to pretend I can fix what I did,” San continued. “But if there’s anything… anything you want from me, I’ll do it.”
Wooyoung blinked. “Anything?”
San nodded, solemn. “Anything.”
Wooyoung’s brow furrowed, and for a moment there was suspicion again. “Like what? Money?”
San let a small flash of panic cross his face, then smoothed it away. “No. I mean… if you need help with something, sure. But I meant… I don’t know. Closure. A chance to say what you never got to say. If you want to yell at me, hit me, spit on me, whatever. I won’t fight back.”
He said it like he was offering himself up.
Wooyoung stared at him. His lips parted, then pressed together again. He looked like he wanted to do something, but he didn’t know what.
“I’m not hitting you,” Wooyoung muttered, almost offended by the idea.
San gave a small nod, like he respected that. “Okay.”
Wooyoung’s eyes searched San’s face again. “You really don’t remember? You said before you didn’t recall.”
San let his cheeks redden slightly, as if ashamed. “I remember,” he admitted. “I was… I was being cruel. I said that to get a rise out of you. I’m sorry.”
Wooyoung’s jaw worked. “You always did that.”
“I know.”
Wooyoung was quiet for a long moment. Then, softly, “Why was it always me?”
San took a breath, letting it shake a little. “Because you reacted.”
Wooyoung’s eyes widened. “What?”
San quickly amended, layering the truth with gentleness. “Because you felt things. You were… you were alive, in a way I wasn’t. When I hurt you, I could see it. I could see it mattered. And that made me feel… powerful.”
It was almost too honest. But sometimes honesty, delivered at the right time, sounded like bravery.
Wooyoung’s face went pale. “That’s disgusting.”
“It is,” San agreed. “And that’s why I hate myself for it.”
Wooyoung’s nostrils flared. He looked like he might bolt back into the room, back into noise, anything that wasn’t this.
San let him. He didn’t reach out. He didn’t grab. He waited.
After a few seconds, Wooyoung’s shoulders slumped. He looked exhausted.
“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” Wooyoung said quietly.
San nodded, earnest. “You don’t have to. I’m not asking you to.”
Wooyoung swallowed hard. “But… you look different. You sound different.”
San gave him a gentle, miserable smile. “I had to be. Otherwise I’d end up like my parents.”
Wooyoung’s eyes darted up. “Are you still living with them?”
San shook his head. “No. I moved out as soon as I could.”
Wooyoung’s posture loosened a fraction, as if that single fact made San safer. Like distance from abusers was proof of improvement.
“Do you have… anyone?” Wooyoung asked, as if the question escaped before he could stop it.
San considered the answer that would hook best.
“I have Jongho,” he said. “Kind of. He’s stubborn. He doesn’t let me disappear completely.”
It wasn’t entirely false. Jongho did pull at him sometimes, tugging him into rooms full of people like trying to make him human by force.
Wooyoung’s gaze softened at the mention of Jongho, like he was a familiar shape in his head. “Jongho’s nice.”
San nodded. “He is.”
Wooyoung chewed on his lip. “So you’re… you’re not here with a bunch of friends. You’re just… here.”
San let the implication settle: San was alone. San was trying. San was sorry.
“Yes,” San said.
Wooyoung’s shoulders rose and fell. “God.”
San waited.
Wooyoung finally said, quieter, “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
San looked at him steadily. “Neither did I.”
Wooyoung’s voice wavered. “And you just… came up to me.”
San let his gaze drop, ashamed again. “I couldn’t not.”
Wooyoung stared at the floor. “I used to have nightmares about you.”
San’s stomach didn’t twist. His face did. “I’m sorry.”
Wooyoung’s hands trembled slightly. He shoved them into his pockets.
San took the risk of stepping a little closer. Not close enough to crowd. Just close enough to create warmth.
“You don’t have to be scared of me,” San said softly. “Not anymore.”
Wooyoung’s head snapped up. His eyes were wet now, furious at their own weakness. “Don’t say that,” he hissed. “You don’t get to decide that.”
San flinched, like he’d been slapped. “You’re right,” he said quickly. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
Wooyoung’s breath shuddered. The anger was still there, but it was tangled with something else now. Something that looked like grief.
San watched, patient.
A door down the hall opened, spilling out laughter. Someone stumbled past them, barely noticing. The hallway swallowed them again.
Wooyoung wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, too rough. “I hate that you’re doing this,” he muttered.
San tilted his head. “Doing what?”
“Being… normal.” Wooyoung’s voice cracked. “Being human.”
San let the phrase hang. He could almost feel it stitching itself to Wooyoung’s ribs.
“I’m trying,” San repeated.
Wooyoung stared at him like he was trying to decide if he was being manipulated. But the very act of questioning it tired him, and his exhaustion won.
“Okay,” Wooyoung said at last, voice small. “Okay.”
San kept his face calm. “Okay?”
Wooyoung nodded, a sharp movement. “Okay. I… I hear you.”
San let relief wash over his features. It wasn’t relief. It was triumph, carefully disguised.
“Thank you,” San said.
Wooyoung looked away quickly, embarrassed by his own softness. “Don’t thank me. I’m not doing you a favor.”
“I know,” San said, gentle. “I’m just… grateful you let me speak.”
Wooyoung’s jaw clenched again. “So what now?”
San lifted his shoulders slightly, as if unsure. “Now… I don’t know. You go back, I go back. We live our lives.”
Wooyoung frowned. “That’s it?”
San’s eyes softened. “Unless you want something else.”
Wooyoung hesitated. “I don’t know what I want.”
San nodded, understanding. “That’s okay.”
Wooyoung swallowed, then blurted, “Do you… do you wanna get out of here?”
San’s eyebrows lifted, surprised in the right way. “What?”
Wooyoung gestured vaguely toward the karaoke room. “It’s loud. And I don’t… I don’t feel like being in there right now. And you said you got dragged, and honestly… I don’t want to sit there pretending I’m fine either.”
San studied him for a moment, letting the decision look heavy.
“I don’t want to ruin your night,” San said.
Wooyoung let out a bitter laugh. “My night’s already ruined. But… in a weird way.”
San waited.
Wooyoung’s voice dropped. “I just don’t want to be alone with my head right now.”
There it was. Need, raw and immediate.
San made his eyes soften like compassion. “Okay,” he said. “We can leave.”
Wooyoung stared at him. “You’ll… you’ll actually just leave?”
San nodded. “If that’s what you want.”
Wooyoung’s throat bobbed. “Yeah. I think… yeah.”
San pushed off the wall and gestured down the corridor. “Then let’s go.”
Wooyoung hesitated again, then stepped forward. “Wait. I need to tell my friend. He’ll freak out if I disappear.”
San nodded. “I’ll come with you.”
Wooyoung looked wary. “No. I’ll do it.”
San lifted his hands slightly in surrender. “Okay. I’ll wait here.”
Wooyoung walked back toward the room, shoulders tense. San watched him go with the same attention he’d given him the entire time, like tracking a small animal that didn’t know it was being approached.
When Wooyoung disappeared through the door, San’s expression flattened. The softness slid off his face like a mask being peeled away. He leaned back against the wall again and listened.
Muffled voices. Someone’s deep laugh. Someone shouting lyrics. Then Wooyoung’s voice, faint through the door, and his friend’s louder response, the rise of concern.
San waited, patient.
A minute later, Wooyoung came back out. His cheeks were flushed. His eyes were still wet, but he’d tried to scrub it away. He looked embarrassed, and that embarrassment made him angry.
“He said okay,” Wooyoung muttered. “He wants me to text when I get home.”
San nodded as if that was sweet. “Good.”
Wooyoung started walking, and San fell into step beside him.
They passed through the corridor, down the stairs, out into the cold night air. The street was damp, reflecting the neon signs in broken puddles. Wooyoung pulled his jacket tighter around himself.
San glanced over. “Where do you want to go?”
Wooyoung shrugged. “I don’t know. Somewhere quiet.”
San’s mind clicked through options, not because he cared about Wooyoung’s comfort, but because he cared about environment. Quiet meant less interruption. Quiet meant control.
“There’s a convenience store around the corner,” San said. “We can grab something and sit by the river. It’s not far.”
Wooyoung eyed him. “River?”
San nodded. “It’s nice at night.”
Wooyoung hesitated. “Fine. Whatever.”
They walked side by side. Wooyoung kept a careful distance, but he didn’t leave. San could feel the fragile thread forming between them, spun from apology and nostalgia and the strange intoxication of meeting a past monster and finding them calm.
At the convenience store, San let Wooyoung choose. Wooyoung grabbed a canned coffee and a packet of chips, hands still slightly shaking. San bought water, mostly for appearances.
They walked to the river path, the city noise softening into a distant hum. The water was dark, moving slow, reflecting streetlights like stretched gold.
Wooyoung sat on a low concrete ledge and stared at the river. San sat beside him, not too close. He opened his water bottle and took a slow sip, eyes scanning.
Wooyoung’s fingers worried the tab on his coffee can. “This is so fucked,” he said quietly.
San turned his head slightly. “I know.”
Wooyoung’s voice cracked again, barely. “I thought I was past it.”
San watched the curve of Wooyoung’s mouth as he tried to keep it steady. “Trauma doesn’t really… stay in the past,” San said, choosing the therapist-sounding line. It made him sound educated, self-aware.
Wooyoung let out a rough breath. “Don’t say that like you know.”
San looked down at his hands. He let his voice go softer. “I don’t know what it’s like for you,” he admitted. “But I know what it’s like to carry things you didn’t ask for.”
Wooyoung glanced over, eyes narrowed. “So you’re the victim too.”
San shook his head quickly. “No. No, I’m not saying that. I’m saying… I’m saying I’m sorry. And I’m saying I get what it’s like to feel trapped.”
Wooyoung’s gaze lingered on him. San could feel Wooyoung testing him again, like pressing on a bruise to see if it hurt.
Wooyoung finally looked back at the river. “You really mean it,” he murmured.
San’s lips parted, and he let his eyes shine with something that looked like regret. “I do.”
It was so easy.
Wooyoung took a shaky sip of coffee. “You know what I hate the most?”
San turned slightly, attentive. “What?”
Wooyoung’s voice was rough. “That part of me… part of me wanted you to apologize. I used to imagine it. You coming up to me and saying you were sorry, and me telling you to go to hell. And now it’s happening and I feel like I’m… I’m doing it wrong.”
San kept his voice gentle. “There’s no right way.”
Wooyoung laughed weakly. “Yes there is. The right way is me being strong. The right way is me not… not sitting here with you like this.”
San’s chest rose slowly. He made his eyes soft again. “Strength isn’t just anger,” he said. “Sometimes strength is… letting yourself feel what you feel.”
Wooyoung stared at him for a moment, then looked away quickly like the words had gotten too close.
San took another sip of water, calm. He let the night do the rest.
For a while they sat in silence. The river moved. A car passed on the bridge overhead, its sound fading.
Wooyoung finally spoke again, voice small. “Do you remember… the time you pushed me down the stairs?”
San’s mouth tightened. He nodded slowly, like remembering hurt. “Yeah,” he said. “I remember.”
Wooyoung’s fingers curled around the coffee can. “I hit my head. I told the nurse I slipped.”
San’s gaze dropped. “I’m sorry,” he said again.
Wooyoung’s eyes were fixed on the water. “You laughed. You laughed like it was funny.”
San swallowed. He forced his voice to go hoarse. “I hate that I did that.”
Wooyoung’s breath shook. “Why did you hate me so much?”
San chose the answer that made him look broken. “I didn’t hate you,” he said softly. “I hated myself.”
Wooyoung’s head snapped toward him. “That’s such bullshit.”
San let his eyes widen, then soften. “I know it sounds like an excuse,” he said. “But it’s not. I didn’t even know you. I picked you because you were… bright. You were kind. And I couldn’t stand it.”
Wooyoung’s mouth opened, then shut. His throat moved. He looked like he wanted to argue, but the words hit the part of him that still needed to believe he had been targeted for a reason that wasn’t random. Random cruelty was harder to live with than cruelty with a story.
Wooyoung’s eyes shimmered again. “Bright,” he repeated, like tasting the word.
San nodded, careful. “Yeah.”
Wooyoung looked away quickly. “Stop,” he muttered. “Stop saying stuff like that.”
San’s voice went softer. “Okay.”
But he didn’t stop. Not really. He just changed the shape.
“I want you to know,” San said after a moment, “that none of it was your fault. I know you probably know that logically, but… I want you to hear it.”
Wooyoung’s fingers dug into the aluminum can. “I used to think if I just… if I just didn’t react, you’d get bored.”
San nodded like that hurt to hear. “I’m sorry.”
Wooyoung’s voice trembled. “I tried. I really tried.”
San leaned forward slightly, gaze focused on the river like he couldn’t bear to look at Wooyoung’s pain. It made him look empathetic. “You didn’t deserve any of it,” he murmured.
Wooyoung’s lips pressed together hard. “Why are you being like this?”
San turned his head. “Because I should have been like this back then,” he said.
Wooyoung stared at him, caught.
San let a pause stretch. Then he said quietly, “Do you want me to tell you the truth?”
Wooyoung’s brow furrowed. “What truth?”
San’s voice dropped. “I think I’ve been carrying it too. What I did. Not because it hurt me, but because… I’m not stupid. I know what it makes me. I know what kind of person I was.”
Wooyoung’s face twisted. “And now you feel bad.”
San nodded, letting the shame show. “Yeah.”
The lie was so smooth it almost felt like silk.
Wooyoung stared at the river again. “I don’t know what to say.”
San’s gaze softened. “You don’t have to say anything.”
Wooyoung’s voice was barely audible. “I believe you.”
San felt something flicker in his chest, not emotion, but satisfaction. Like a lock turning.
Wooyoung kept talking, words spilling now that the dam had cracked. “I always thought… I always thought if you ever apologized, I’d feel better. Like it would undo it or something. But it doesn’t. It just makes me… tired.”
San nodded. “I know.”
Wooyoung laughed weakly. “You don’t know.”
San didn’t argue. He just let his face look sad.
The night stretched around them.
“Do you have anyone else?” Wooyoung asked suddenly, as if trying to ground himself in small talk.
San shook his head. “Not really.”
Wooyoung glanced at him. “No girlfriend?”
San almost smiled at the predictability. “No.”
Wooyoung’s cheeks flushed faintly, perhaps from the cold. “Boyfriend?”
San paused, just a beat too long, letting it look like vulnerability. “No,” he repeated. “I don’t… I don’t do relationships.”
Wooyoung hummed, thoughtful. “Same,” he said quietly.
San turned his head. “Yeah?”
Wooyoung shrugged, staring at the river. “I tried. It never works. I get too… in my head.”
San nodded, sympathetic. “That makes sense.”
Wooyoung’s mouth twisted. “You’re being so normal. It’s throwing me off.”
San let a small smile form, careful not to look amused. “I’m sorry.”
Wooyoung rolled his eyes, but it lacked heat. “Stop apologizing every five seconds.”
San dipped his head. “Okay.”
They sat longer. Wooyoung’s posture slowly loosened. The distance between them shrank by millimeters, not enough to be obvious, but enough for San to feel like he was tightening a net.
Eventually Wooyoung yawned, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?”
San checked his phone. “Almost two.”
Wooyoung cursed softly. “My friends are gonna kill me.”
San kept his voice gentle. “Do you want me to walk you home?”
Wooyoung hesitated. “I can get a taxi.”
San nodded. “Okay.” He waited, then added softly, “But if you want company… I can.”
Wooyoung’s eyes flicked over. He looked conflicted again.
“I don’t know why I’m trusting you,” Wooyoung muttered.
San’s voice was quiet. “You don’t have to.”
Wooyoung frowned, then sighed. “No. It’s… it’s fine. You can walk with me. Just… don’t be weird.”
San almost smiled. “I won’t.”
They stood, dusting off their clothes. Wooyoung tossed his empty coffee can into a bin. San followed.
As they walked through the quiet streets, Wooyoung kept glancing at San like he expected the apology to crack and reveal teeth.
San kept his expression mild.
When they reached a row of apartment buildings, Wooyoung slowed. “This is me,” he said, pointing to one.
San stopped a few feet back. “Okay.”
Wooyoung lingered, keys in hand. He looked up at San, eyes tired.
“Are you… are you going to keep being in my life now?” Wooyoung asked.
San made his eyes soften. “Only if you want me to,” he said. “I won’t force myself into your space. I just… I’d like the chance to make things right. Even a little.”
Wooyoung swallowed. “How?”
San shrugged lightly. “We can talk. We can… we can start over. If that’s too much, we can just… be acquaintances. Say hi if we see each other.”
Wooyoung stared at him. His face was a mess of conflict.
San waited.
Wooyoung finally nodded, small. “Okay,” he said again, like the word was becoming a habit. “Maybe. We can… talk.”
San let relief soften his features. “Okay.”
Wooyoung unlocked the door. He paused on the threshold.
“San?”
San looked up. “Yeah?”
Wooyoung’s voice was quiet. “Thank you… for this. For apologizing. I think I believe you.”
San’s throat moved. He let his eyes shine. “Thank you for believing me,” he said.
Wooyoung nodded and slipped inside, closing the door behind him.
San stood in the hallway for a moment, listening to the sound of the lock clicking. Then he turned and walked back toward the street.
He didn’t feel guilt. He didn’t feel remorse. He didn’t feel anything except the steady, satisfied awareness that Wooyoung had opened up.
People were so easy when they wanted a story.
San pulled out his phone and opened the messages from Jongho. A few texts had come through while they were out.
Jongho: u good?
Jongho: text me when u get home
San typed a quick reply.
San: yeah. took some air. heading back now.
He slipped the phone into his pocket and looked up at the night sky. The city lights drowned out the stars.
He wondered, briefly, what Wooyoung was doing behind that door. Probably lying in bed with his heart racing, replaying every word. Probably thinking of the boy from high school and the man from tonight and trying to fit them into the same shape.
San didn’t care about the pain. He cared about the access.
He walked, hands in his pockets, face calm.
By the time he got back to his own apartment, his birthday had technically passed. Midnight had swallowed it up and spit it out.
Inside, his place was exactly the way he liked it. Quiet. Clean. Controlled. No photos on the walls. No clutter that suggested a personality. Just the bare necessities, the kind of space that didn’t ask questions.
He kicked off his shoes and sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the dark TV screen across from him. His phone buzzed.
A new message.
Wooyoung. He must’ve asked Jongho for his number, they did know eachother after all.
San’s lips curved slightly before he could stop them.
Wooyoung: i’m home.
San waited a few seconds, just enough to look casual. Then he typed.
San: good. get some sleep.
Wooyoung replied almost immediately.
Wooyoung: thanks. and… i don’t know. thanks for saying what you said.
San stared at the words. He could picture Wooyoung’s thumbs hovering over the keyboard, the hesitation, the vulnerability.
San typed back.
San: you didn’t have to hear it. i’m glad you did.
He set the phone down and lay back, hands folded on his stomach.
For a moment, he tried to imagine what a normal person would feel. Relief, maybe. Sadness. A longing for forgiveness.
His mind stayed blank.
He turned his head toward the window. The curtains were half open, letting a strip of streetlight cut across the floor.
He closed his eyes and thought about Wooyoung’s face.
Not the anger.
Not the fear.
Not the confusion, either.
The moment Wooyoung said I believe you.
San’s mouth twitched again.
Tomorrow, he’d see how far he could pull the thread.